


Half-baked Temptations and Holy Ground

by NotASpaceAlien



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 09:34:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5702875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotASpaceAlien/pseuds/NotASpaceAlien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aziraphale and Crowley cover for each other at the very beginning of the Arrangement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Half-baked Temptations and Holy Ground

**Author's Note:**

> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/127888250385/okay-if-its-not-too-late-for-prompts-or-you-can
> 
> The art is on tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/137194601470/half-baked-temptations-and-holy-ground

Aziraphale’s signature was…sickening.

The loops.  The curls and twists.  It almost seemed like it should be illegal to have calligraphy this… _fancy_.  It seemed so out of place, especially in the dim, dingy barn they had met in.

“I believe all that’s needed now is _your_ signature,” said Aziraphale, handing him the quill with a flourish.

Crowley took it and signed* his own name on the parchment as neatly and fancily as he could, trying not to let himself be shown up, but it was no use.  Aziraphale had him smartly outclassed.

* * *

*His could more accurately be called a scrawl.  It was on par for a demon–it wouldn’t do to have demons with nice handwriting, would it?–but it still bothered him.

* * *

“Then the Arrangement is complete,” said Crowley, giving the angel a cockeyed grin and rolling up the agreement.

They shook hands and looked at each other firmly.  Each was thinking, _Don’t make me regret this._

* * *

The very first employment of the Arrangement came a few days later, in the form of a message from Aziraphale.

_Crowley,_

_Thank you for informing me of your intent to go to Hull for a temptation.  In fact, I have an assignment in the very same city, which should be easy enough for you to carry out; I believe your angelic powers are still in-tact enough to do this one.  In the spirit of the Arrangement, doing so would mean I would complete one of your tasks of an equivalent level of involvement in the future at your discretion._

_Sincerely,_

_Aziraphale._

Again, with his handwriting.  His looping signature took up almost a fourth of the page.  Ugh.

The details of his assignment were attached.  It didn’t seem too hard; just to impart some divine ecstasy to a devout believer.

This relationship might actually work.  But the first interactions were crucial.   _I’ve just got to not bugger this up._

A few hours later, he was swearing in every language he knew, cursing Aziraphale, Heaven, Hell, Himself.

This assignment.

Which was in a church.

He had lodged himself in the branches of a nearby tree to get a better view of the building in question.  There was some religious service going inside it, and Aziraphale’s assignment was supposed to be done before it was over.

Crowley couldn’t go on holy ground, though.  And the object of the mission wouldn’t be coming out until after the service was over, at which point it would be too late.

This was just his luck.  He tried to do what was best, and things like this happened and got in the way.  He finally was getting on good terms with the angel, but if this job didn’t get completed, the angel would be in hot water, which Crowley knew, if that happened just once, this early in the Arrangement, it would mean Aziraphale would be done with him.

It was never said of Anthony J Crowley that he was one to give up easily, however.

The building wasn’t holy ground _all the way up_.  It couldn’t be.  Crowley had flown over churches before without ill effect.  It was holy _ground_.  The ceilings, walls, pews–well, they were a different matter.

Crowley launched himself at the church and caught one of the gargoyles; he used its snarling face to pull himself up onto the roof, where he shimmied over to the side and flipped himself upside-down to look in one of the upper windows.

Art by [@lunasong365](https://tmblr.co/mg-vVFeEJ6gmLXjlBR-idNw)

If this event had been taking place a millennium or so in the future, Crowley would have been humming the _Mission: Impossible_ main theme, but it hadn’t been invented yet.

The Latin words the priest was chanting burned his ears a little, but it wouldn’t be too bad if he could get out quickly.  It was easy enough to convince everyone that they didn’t see him with a little suggestion that he was invisible.

He scaled down the wall, leaped lightly onto the pot of a large floral arrangement.  He could feel his eyes beginning to water.

The priest continued to speak; the churchgoers’s eyes were all focused on him, and Crowley spotted his target: a middle-aged woman three pews back, enraptured with the sermon.

Crowley stretched as far as he could and placed his foot tentatively on the back of the wooden pew, then tiptoed along it like a tightrope walker.  It was a bit difficult to convince the people sitting behind his target to continue taking no notice of him, but he managed.

Finally, he reached her.  He crossed his hands over her head and felt power beginning to flow out from his hands and into her.

“Peace be with you and god bless and may ye be ever merciful blibbidy blibbidy bloo bla,” said Crowley, windmilling his arms in an attempt to keep his balance.

The priest paused and looked in Crowley’s direction, a look of vague confusion on his face, and Crowley began to curse and redoubled the efforts behind the illusion concealing him.  It was difficult; the air felt heavy and thick, and now his throat was burning as well as his eyes and ears.

When he saw the priest begin moving towards the stoup that contained the holy water, Crowley muttered, “Ah, right, yes, nope, nope, n-o-p-e, this is quite enough, thank you.”

He stalked back, leaving the woman with her hastily imparted demonic divine ecstasy, and the sermon continued as usual even as the demon flung himself off the roof and away from the accursed** building.

* * *

**Or, as the case might be, blessed.

* * *

Aziraphale received his own correspondence regarding the Arrangement in due time, written in lettering that seemed to vibrate with passive-aggressive irritation:

_Aziraphale,_

_I understand you are completing a job in Sancton in the upcoming week.  It would be convenient if you would complete a simple assignment for me while you are there._

_Crowley_

With the details of the job attached.

Oh, dear, thought Aziraphale, suddenly unsure of his ability to bring himself to complete Crowley’s jobs.  It wasn’t _too_  bad.  It wasn’t anything overtly evil, not _really_.  He could do it.  The demon had made good on his end of their agreement, and Aziraphale was going to be damned*** if _he’d_ be the one to break it this early on.

* * *

***Not literally, he fervently hoped.

* * *

His own job went cleanly and by-the-book, then he cautiously made his way across town to find Crowley’s target. 

It was a relatively young vicar strolling casually along the road.  Aziraphale had to tempt him.  And as the angel saw a young woman dressed in a certain, meaningful way crossing his path, he knew _to_   _what_  he was supposed to tempt the man.

“Ahm, right,” he said, sidling up behind the vicar and willing everyone around him to take no notice.  The vicar stopped to look at the woman, who waved at him in a sultry fashion.  


“What a stunning young lady, if I may say so,” said Aziraphale into his ear.  “Very fine, indeed.”  


The vicar nodded, and Aziraphale could almost hear the gears in his head turning as he began to debate with himself internally.

“I bet–I bet she’s quite an intelligent, respectable young woman,” said Aziraphale, and then cringed as the vicar got a dim, conflicted look on his face.  


“Erm, no I mean-”  He tried to think of what dreadful things he was sure Crowley would say in such a situation.  “I bet she’d like it if you–gave her a taste of your manhood?”  


It seemed to have an effect; the vicar licked his lips.

“Yes–ahm–all night long, I’m sure she’d enjoy that.  And–and _you’d_ enjoy it too, of course.”  


He continued trying to speak the cleanest version of dirty talk as was possible into the man’s ear, and was relieved when the vicar moved off towards the woman without further prompting.  He showed her a gold coin and she led him back behind a building.  Aziraphale watched them go off, pride and guilt mixing inside him.

The demon and the angel met in a bar a few days later to report to each other.

“Easy, no trouble whatsoever,” said Crowley coolly, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

“Likewise,” said Aziraphale, examining his fingernails.  “Nothing to it.”

The two of them shook hands again, and proceeded to get smashed by ingesting far more alcohol than a human could possibly survive.


End file.
